


Ellipse

by Quit3Contrary



Category: Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo, Paprika (2006), Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Romance, Slow Build, Songfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-08 07:44:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8836180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quit3Contrary/pseuds/Quit3Contrary
Summary: After a horrific incident, Fai flees his hometown of Marseilles to Los Angeles to escape his thoughts, nightmares, and wrongdoings. There, he meets a small group of acquaintances introduced to him by an old friend, one of which may be the crack in the defenses he clings to so desperately.  A modern-day AU.  Loosely based off of Imogen Heap's "Ellipse" Album, released when this was started in 2009.Yuui had landed in LAX in April. Yuui was French, a fact that delighted everyone, especially Americans; it made him interesting, more of an enigma, a fact that hid in the slight difference in nuances, the way he wrapped his mouth around words. It was an easy way to meet people, and though he’d only been in the States a short time he never found himself at a loss for acquaintances. Americans were loud, excitable, and Yuui enjoyed it, allowing their voices to drown out his thoughts, which he kept carefully hidden, tucked away in his sleeve, alongside his past.





	1. Wait It Out

**Author's Note:**

> The overall skeleton of this story is based off of Imogen Heap's "Ellipse" Album.

The world was one that revolved around green, whether it was making it, or going it. They were elusive concepts, infuriating to the critical thinker. Magic didn’t exist anymore, except in the ‘Magic Kingdom’, where children’s dreams could be bought for the low price of $85 for a hopper pass. Around them, people screamed that the planet was dying, falling apart, greenhouse gases, killing rainforests, over consumption, overpopulation.  
  
It was a world that lacked imagination and was abundant in ‘fact’, though some changed with the trends and some were more hysterical than others, blurring the line of truth. People were a mass, easily manipulated into a panic by buzzwords; war, biological and chemical, terrorists, statistics, suicide bombings. ‘Love thy neighbor’ quickly turned into ‘trust no one’ depending on their religion. Everyone was out for number one. Watch your back. Scratch mine, and I’ll scratch yours.  
  
Women screamed for equality, screamed that men only used them for their bodies. Some men shouted back that they deserved it. Those men felt like the majority, a loud, chauvinistic, overpowering voice. Rape, assault, sexual harassment; it was no wonder homosexuality was such a hit when so many factors came into dealing with the opposite sex, on both sides of the coin.  
  
Of course, homosexuality was completely immoral, depending on who you asked. One more factor, one step closer to the four horsemen of the apocalypse. People tried to argue for human rights, and their voices were drowned out in votes, denying them the right to happiness (or misery, depending) and eternal, wedded bliss.  
  
And yet, despite the fact that everyone around him cried out that the world was spiraling down into nothing, eroded by sin and corruption, it seemed to roll on its axis as normal for Yuui, the words all but falling on deaf ears. They were all concepts, not reality, though they were supposed to be real to him. But all he felt was the sun on his skin, a cool breeze, a spring in his step.  
  
The world may be ending, but it sure was a lovely day.  
  
Yuui had found himself in Los Angeles after wandering from his hometown, much to his own surprise. It was a city filled with people crying out for attention, their own voices drowning out the rest, too wrapped up in their own drama to notice that everyone else was doing the same thing. Everyone was an actor, even the people who didn’t claim it as a profession. It was an interesting place, possessing a life of its own, heart beating at a slightly faster pace. It was a place filled to the brim with sheep, sheep that tried desperately to prove that they were individuals but in the process only furthered their conformity.  
  
It was a perfect place to hide; no one cared, the city balancing on a strange sense of apathy. Opinions, much like expensive bags, worn casually and half-heartedly before tossed to the side as the trends changed.  
  
He fit in _perfectly._  
  
And he watched as the economy dipped and gas prices soared into the heavens, smiling. It was 2009, a year lacking in flying cars, and lacking in any promise of them. Only a few seemed to mind; Yuui wasn’t one of them. He was afraid of heights.  
  
Yuui had landed in LAX in April. Yuui was French, a fact that delighted everyone, especially Americans; it made him interesting, more of an enigma, a fact that hid in the slight difference in nuances, the way he wrapped his mouth around words. It was an easy way to meet people, and though he’d only been in the States a short time he never found himself at a loss for acquaintances. Americans were loud, excitable, and Yuui enjoyed it, allowing their voices to drown out his thoughts, which he kept carefully hidden, tucked away in his sleeve, alongside his past.  
  
He found an apartment quickly with what money he had left in his savings, stuffing in his few possessions, most of them instruments. Yuui found a job quickly, being that he had experience doing just about anything, and doing it at an acceptable level over mediocre; a jack of all trades, and a master of none. It frustrated him at times, but it kept life fresh, kept his days interesting, and though he picked up and dropped off jobs much like parents did children at school, his congenial attitude and personable presence made it hard for people to say no.  
  
Yuui was never gruff, never irritated, never did anything but smile, it seemed. He kept his emotions in check, and being a man of 26, he’d become quite good at handling himself over the years. He viewed the world through one-way glass, seeing everything,, and allowing no one to see him. People asked questions, eager to get to know him, and he was eager to avoid them. It was a defense mechanism, something that was for the best, something that kept him safe, he’d learned, though more through the hard way than anything else. What taught him to be on guard, well… that was something he’d keep to himself.  
  
He’d made quite a decent life for himself, juggling several jobs and a social life simultaneously, which was no small feat. He was getting comfortable in his new life, until May rolled around. The specific date in May was of no real importance to the rest of the world, and it came and went just as any other. But to Yuui, it shortly became the world. It was this day in May that he found what would be the break in his defenses.  
  
But we’ll not be starting there.  
  


* * *

  
  
He didn’t know how long he laid there, lying on his side, staring at the wall across from him in the dark as he heard a voice breathing into his ear from behind him on the mattress. He couldn’t process the words that tried to make their way to him; rather, they just floated on the air around him, and no doubt would follow him for months later, sneaking up on him in an alleyway on his way home, or in a bar, during a conversation.  
  
Apologies, he thought they were. Apologies for violating his trust. Apologies for doing something stupid. He was sorry, and Yuui knew he was a good guy… he _liked_ Yuui, couldn’t he see that? He just wanted them to be friends after this, that was all. But friendship was a lot to ask for from someone who’d just become nothing more than an object to the person who was begging for forgiveness.  
  
He felt guilt build up in the back of his throat, and shame come along to join it, choking him as he tried to bite back the tears that followed, a vain effort. He tried to cry quietly but a sharp intake of breath was enough to give him away, and suddenly the man’s hand was in his hair and the voice was back, telling him not to cry, it would be all right. That foul-smelling hand ran itself along the skin of his back, and through his hair, tracing the scent where it went, a scent that Yuui knew he’d never be able to remove from his mind, or from himself.  
  
The voice continued, and Yuui ignored it, telling Yuui how he couldn’t sleep, and how he knew Yuui couldn’t either. Eventually, he stopped; a shorter amount of time later, he fell asleep. The other’s hand remained, pressed firmly into his back as he snored, the print burning into Yuui’s skin, into his mind, into his very being.  
  
Yuui remained awake, still staring at the wall; he couldn‘t fall back asleep, that‘s what had gotten him into this whole mess in the first place. He never stopped crying, but as each tear made its way down his cheek, it carried with it pieces of himself that allowed any room for emotion. He lay there until the sun came up, rising when it did, and as he got to his feet he felt… absolutely nothing. As though he’d wept his very soul out through the night, and left it here. As time would pass, he’d look back and wonder if he really had.  
  
He got into the shower, trying to wash off the smell of that man’s hands from himself, trying to wash away the anguish, guilt and disgust he felt at himself and the other, truly the only emotions he was capable of having at the moment. He stood there, feeling the water pound into his back and trickle down between his legs and eventually making it to the floor, wondering if he’d ever feel clean again.  
  
When he felt as though he was washed enough, he left, leaving a handful of his things at the other’s apartment; he didn’t feel like venturing back into the room of someone he’d once considered a friend. He only grabbed the backpack he’d left by the door, containing a small amount of personal belongings, slipping his shoes on much like he slipped into the early morning and headed towards the train station.  
  
There are some words in which many people never know the true definition of. One may try and define these words on paper as best they can, but in reality, there’s a third dimension to them, one that can’t be contained by ink and paper, and one that (in an ideal world) shouldn’t exist. It’s difficult for people who haven’t lived the words in question to ever understand this seemingly imaginary third dimension, or even believe that it exists.  
  
Yuui raised the corners of his lips bitterly, though he felt no motivation behind it. He could hardly feel the muscles move, hardly process his surroundings, hardly count the money as he fed it into the machine to buy a train ticket home. His hands shook, whether from exhaustion, hunger or a strange combination of the two… or the fear that the other had followed him here, to try and continue where they’d left off.  
  
He managed to get the bill into the machine, though it took him a while, and as the ticket printed he brought a hand to his face in frustration and he leaned against the machine pitifully, feeling the hot breath from behind him again, those ridiculous words, the sheets pulled down to his knees--  
  
So this was ‘rape’.  
  
He shook his head violently, trying to shake away the weight of the word. He sucked in a breath as he leaned over to retrieve his ticket and shoved it into his pocket. This wasn’t the time or place for him to have a breakdown. And despite the fact that he spent the next 45 minutes fighting the urge to weep, he managed to keep an outwardly calm appearance the entirety of the ride home.  
  
As he stepped through the door of his home, he dropped his backpack haphazardly next to it and left his shoes in the doorway, heading for the kitchen mechanically, almost subconsciously. He felt sick to his stomach, but he knew he needed to eat, and only did so out of necessity.  
  
He stared off into nothingness, jaw moving mechanically as half-lidded eyes blinked, only to keep his eyes hydrated. He thought he might have cried, but didn’t really care enough to notice; it felt as though his mind had retracted entirely from his body, shutting off any capability for emotion, and therefore minimizing his ability to think about anything but eating, sleeping, and drinking. At times, it all would come flooding to him, and he would weep before falling back to sleep.  
  
Two weeks, then four passed, and it was all very much the same. Sure, as time passed, he was able to put up a front, fake a good smile, pretend to want to see people. But in the end it was all motions, something he did to make himself feel more human, feel like something more than just a frame. He never told anyone, not even the police. Part of him felt as though if he were to do that, it would be like accepting it ever happened, and thus made it more difficult to deal with. And so he instead opted to pretend as though he were normal, as though that night were just the same as any other. But nothing he did ever made any difference.  
  
It’s always said that time healed everything… but something that was never covered was the period between the initial cause and the time in which the individual considers themselves ‘healed’. What about this wretched hollow? The pieces of himself lay shattered at his feet, along with that night, and were he to try and pick them up to piece them together, try and pick apart what he needed from unwanted memories, he’d only cut himself with every “should have” or “could have”.  
  
During the time he spent that wasn’t pretending to be happy in the presence of others, he wrapped himself around his cello, or a guitar, or a violin, having tired himself out with tears and opting instead to weep with their strings; something to try and bring any emotion forward. Something to make this any easier to deal with. And as he did, his mind raced with questions--where was he supposed to go from here? How was he supposed to carry on?  
  
No matter how he tried, he couldn’t get beyond the questions themselves.  
  
His answer came, five weeks after the incident, in the form of a phone call.


	2. First Train Home

The phone rang, breaking through the haze of thoughts he’d surrounded himself with. He blinked in surprise, reconnecting to the word around him, eyes darting to the object that created the noise and reaching out half-heartedly to cease it.

“Yuui,” he said, his voice possessing an odd amount of spark despite the blank look on his face. He’d become quite adept at pretending as time went on.

“Flowright!” a familiar voice chimed in on the other line. “You sound so awake. Color me surprised!”

Yuui glanced over at the clock--9AM. He was a bit of a late riser, having such an active night life. He normally played at a small collection of nightclubs as an accompanist for many upstart musicians. Of course, he’d found it more and more difficult to sleep lately, so it only came with the territory that he’d be awake more hours of the day.

“I do like to make a habit of keeping people on their toes,” Yuui said, blinking in slight confusion. “Though, do forgive me, but I’m afraid I can’t tell who this is.”

“We haven’t talked in three months and you’ve already forgotten me!” the voice answered, though it was clear he was simply teasing. “Sorry, I’ve been too busy with this whole ‘living in a different country’ thing to keep in proper touch. I hope you can forgive me.”

That dry sarcasm was hard to forget, and Yuui found himself smiling, in spite of everything.

“It’s definitely been too long,” Yuui replied. “Beauchamp, I thought for sure that America had swallowed you whole.”

“So you do remember! You shouldn’t toy with a guy’s feelings like that. With all I’ve been through these last few months, I just don’t know if my heart could take it.”

Yuui smiled, bitterly, trying to swallow the irony in his voice as he replied, “You don’t say? My apologies.”

The conversation continued, and Yuui found himself enjoying it, allowing himself to be pulled out of his hometown of Marseilles as Beauchamp went on about the place many mockingly referred to as ‘the land of opportunity’, imagining the city lights of Los Angeles painting the sky, putting the stars to shame. And really, who would want to look up when they could look out at the same view?  
Yuui felt something in Beauchamp’s descriptions and stories, a spark within him. An idea, if you could call it that; suddenly, as his friend’s voice reached his ears, he became overwhelmed with emotions--the desire to paint, to run through a field as fast as his legs would allow, to love someone.

But he couldn’t do any of that here, could he? He knew English well enough…

Yuui got to his feet, nearly stumbling over to the small laptop he owned, opening a page and perusing flight information as he glanced over his bank accounts and frowned.

“You wouldn’t happen to mind if I were to visit, would you?”

“Of course not! But you don’t have the money to do that sort of thing playing in clubs, do you?”

The corners of Yuui’s eyes narrowed--it wasn’t as though he had anything to lose.

“I have my ways.”

 

* * *

  
Another week later and Yuui, desperate to get back on his feet, found himself sitting in a plane. He’d found the money, through means that will be addressed later, and had enough left to purchase a green card, a visa, a new identity; Yuui was now ‘Fai’, a name that was familiar to him but wasn’t his own until he left the airport and headed towards a new start, hopefully away from dark rooms and breathy voices.

He’d notified only Beauchamp of the change in his name, since he was the only one that needed to know; Beauchamp knew better than to press the reason after the initial question of ‘why’ had been dodged. Yuui had always been quirky, and impossible to pin when he wanted to be, or rather, most of the time.  
The flight itself was smooth and quiet--a good omen, he thought, desperate for any sort of comfort. Truth be told, his heart was beating wildly, and though he took the red-eye he found it difficult to sleep, mind racing with “what ifs” that refused to be left behind in France.

Yet, as the plane touched down at Los Angeles International Airport and he took his first steps onto American soil, he felt an odd sort of calm wash over him. It wasn’t one that possessed actual serenity within it, but it was enough to calm his mind, at the moment. And as he walked towards the luggage carousel, he felt something well up within him; it was familiar, but in a distant way, something that he’d felt before but not in what seemed to be an eternity.

It was emotion. In the weeks that had followed his assault, he’d become nothing more than a shell, going through the motions of everyday life to try and create some sort of feeling within him, and it always ended in vain. His mind was stuck in tar, trying desperately to break free from being sucked further into depression, but in its struggle only worsened the situation.

But now, for the first time in six weeks, he felt as though he could actually breathe, felt the air enter into his lungs through his nose and linger there before releasing it. He didn’t know how long this feeling would last, nor did he care, but he clung to the precious moment of absolute freedom as best he could before it fell through his fingers, as he knew it inevitably would.

“Fai!” a voice called out his new name, warm with familiarity, belonging to someone he’d not seen in nearly two years. A man, tall and slightly emaciated, plodded over to the similarly thin blond waiting in the airport with a decent collection of luggage, mostly instrument cases. His hair was short, messy and a dark brown, somewhat curly bangs threatening to hide a pair of brown eyes. His complexion bordered on dark for a Frenchman, and he was not as well-dressed, opting instead for an old, beat up blazer, with sleeves rolled to his elbows, over a slightly wrinkled button-up shirt for his normal attire. A cigarette dangled loosely from his lips, as it always did; to see him without one would be a cause for worry.

His name was Robert Beauchamp, a journalist that had grown ‘tired’ (he claimed) of political writing in France and decided to move to the States. A fresh start. A new job.

Of course, he went back into journalism. You can take the man from his passion, but you can’t take the passion from the man. But the journalism he opted for in the States was a bit… outside of his normal sphere.

“My friend, it’s been far too long,” Beauchamp said in French, holding out a hand to shake, and pulling Fai in for a hearty pat on the back when his hand was accepted. Fai felt himself tense subconsciously at the sudden contact, but allowed it.

“Your French hasn’t suffered at all!” Fai returned, also in their native tongue, gaining an almost sly edge to his expression, allowing himself to tease with an old friend as he pushed aside the initial discomfort at being touched. “I thought for sure you would have lost your grip on it.“

“You have this man to thank for that,“ Beauchamp said, jutting a thumb behind him to indicate a posh, red-headed man standing behind him. The stranger smiled, nodding his head politely in greeting.

Robert turned to face him in order to give a proper introduction. “This is Lucien Debray, also a Frenchman. As you can see, we’re gathering quite a collection; we’ll only need a few more and we’ll be able to claim the country as our own!” Beauchamp said, chuckling at himself.

“Nice to meet you,“ Fai said, nodding his head back at the other. “Do you work with Beauchamp as a journalist?“

The other man laughed, as though it were simply ridiculous to assume so, and shot a smug look at Beauchamp as he replied, “Heavens no, I’d think I should have to kill myself if I found myself working for a celebrity tabloid.“

“Celebrity tabloid!“ Fai exclaimed in disbelief, looking at Beauchamp for an explanation. Robert, eager to correct, interjected quickly to do so.

“Freelance work!“ Beauchamp said, wagging his finger in distaste at his friend, though he made no effort to deny the accusation. “A man’s gotta make money somehow. Everywhere else only pays pennies for three times the work!“

“You say that as though the publications you choose to submit to are reputable,“ Lucien quipped, lips upturned in a playful smirk, raising his chin and looking down his nose at Beauchamp. Americans would call Lucien ‘French’, but even the French would call him ‘haughty’.

“You’ve never laid an eye on one of my articles and you know it,“ Beauchamp said, laughing and patting the other’s shoulder. Fai raised his eyebrows, smile still perched on his lips; what an odd relationship these two had.

“You’ve lost quite a bit of weight while you’ve been here, Beauchamp!“ Fai said, eager to change the subject away from their odd tightrope between teasing and honesty.

“Times are tough, no doubt,“ Robert said, running a hand along his very defined cheekbone. “But you’ll find this out soon enough, I’m sure--the food here is awful! Makes me wish I could just hop on a plane like you, and just go home!“

Fai laughed, and Debray shook his head, rueful expression on his features as he said, “No, unfortunately he’s quite right.“

“Well it’s a good thing you didn’t,” Fai said, patting Beauchamp on the shoulder. “Or I’d think you were going out of your way to avoid me!“

“True enough,“ Beachamp conceded, bending to reach for a few of Fai’s bags. “In any case, we’d better get going--we’ve got some people gathered to welcome you, but one of them gets kinda cranky when she’s kept from drinking.“

“Really, I don’t think Ema would even bother to wait for our return,“ Debray pointed out, and Robert laughed, shrugging his shoulders helplessly.

“You‘re probably right!“

LAX, Fai quickly learned, was no where near Los Angeles itself; rather, it sat about twenty minutes outside of it, were traffic agreeable. Unfortunately, Fai also quickly learned that traffic was never agreeable. The airport, much like many parts of the United States, he was told, was like an island--completely unreachable by anything other than a car. Public transit was non-existent, compared to its abundance in Europe; a saddening fact, since Fai didn’t actually own a car, but buses ran well enough… if you didn’t mind waiting a while for one to roll by.

The drive back gave them time to catch up and warn Fai of the other two that were waiting for them to arrive--women, he’d been informed, and of completely opposite sides of the spectrum. It was an interesting warning, to be sure, but one that couldn’t be entirely understood until one actually beheld their glory for themselves.

“I tried to gather a few more people for you, you know, to try and give you more people to talk to than just me,“ Beauchamp said, glancing back at him through the rearview mirror as they merged onto a new freeway, one less congested. “--not that I’d think you’d need anyone else--” He added with a grin before quickly being cut off.

“You may not, but I do,“ Debray interjected with a similar look on his face, though his grin was much more muted. He brushed a long, wavy strand of copper hair behind an ear, allowing Robert to continue.

“--but unfortunately, I’m afraid some of my other associates aren’t as friendly.“

“I wonder why you were so eager to introduce them, then!“ Fai chirped from the back seat, raising his eyebrows for an explanation.

“He’s not a bad guy, per se, just a little… well, I guess you’d call him cranky.“

“To say the least!“ Debray added again, and Beauchamp shot him a tense look, saying, “Do you lose all your charm when women aren’t around?“

“I’ve no reason to woo you, Beauchamp.“

“Well, he’s a good guy, damn reliable,“ Beauchamp said, with an air of finality on the subject of his mystery friend. “And if he’s a bit rough around the edges, so be it.“

They arrived at their destination shortly after, a small bar in a place called Burbank called Michael’s--simple enough. They parked on the street and quickly made their way inside. It was deafening, and Beauchamp swore, switching to English.

“I forgot it was karaoke night,” he said, rubbing his face as the tone-deaf screeches of a young woman on the impromptu stage reached their ears. “It’ll be busy tonight.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had the privilege of visiting a karaoke bar,” Fai mused aloud, his accent thick and apparent, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Debray shook his head ruefully.

“You’ve managed to evade hell on earth, in that case,” he said before apparently spotting someone. Fai followed his eyes, gaze falling on an excitable red-head--she was thin, dressed in a simple red t-shirt and cropped jeans, and freckles sprinkled her cheeks under a pair of devious black eyes. Beside her sat another girl, this one in possession of much less energy. Her hair was long and brown, the front half pulled into a quick ponytail; a pair of white sunglasses with pink lenses rested atop her head. Curiously enough, she wore a white lab coat, unbuttoned over a green vest with a pink scarf. She stared absentmindedly out the window she was seated beside, reaching into a small baggy that rested on the table in front of her, pulling out small, unidentifiable snacks and popping them into her mouth. A large drink sat beside it, halfway empty. The liquid that was left was a neon blue--curious, to say the least.

“Our utmost apologies for the wait, ladies,” Debray cooed, his demeanor suddenly much more smooth than it had been with his male companion in the car. His English was good, from what Fai could tell, though he was a bit caught off-guard by the sudden change in language. The red-headed woman waved a hand dismissively in response to Debray’s apology.

“We’ve barely just sat down!” she said, her voice dancing over the music, peppy and somewhat musical in its delivery.

“Must’ve been a rough day for you then, eh?” Beauchamp said, patting the quiet girl in the lab coat on the shoulder. She glanced up, somewhat annoyed.

“Any day that forces me to deal with that fop is a rough day!” she said, picking up the large glass and raising it to her lips. She drank down a good portion of what was left and set the drink down, nodding at Fai as she changed the subject. “But enough about my terrible life--who’s your friend?”

“This is another friend from France,” Beauchamp said, placing his hand on Fai’s shoulder. Fai smiled and nodded at the other two as he Beauchamp completed the introduction. “Fai Flowright.”

“Another Frenchie!” the red-head cried, smiling as she winked at Fai. “I’ll let this one pass because he’s cute, but after this, I’ve got to draw the line!”

“Why is that?” Lucien said, stepping forward, a devilish smirk across his features. “Afraid that you might be fall for more than one?”

She laughed, shaking her head at the sheer ridiculousness of the suggestion, and said, “If they were all like you, Lucien, I’m sure I’d stand no chance!” Before Debray had the chance to respond, she leaned forward, placing her foot on the bench seat beside the other woman as she reached forward to shake Fai’s hand.

“I’m Paprika,” she said, and he smiled as best he could as he shook the offered hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he replied, his tongue feeling thick and awkward as it wrapped around the words. Understanding and speaking were certainly two different things, and since Marseilles had a particularly rough reputation (at least among American tourists), he’d never had many chances to really practice. At least, not beyond the ‘the bathroom is over there’ sort of experience.

“And I’m Ema,” the other girl said, pushing her large drink to the side as she placed her hand out for a shake as well. “Ema Skye.”

“Nice to meet the both of you,” Fai said, shaking Ema’s hand before sitting across from them. Beauchamp and Debray soon joined him.

“So you’ve just come from the airport?” Paprika asked.

“Yes, that’s right,” Fai replied, and her eyebrows nearly disappeared behind her bangs.

“And Robert brought you straight here?” she said, to which Fai nodded. “You must be exhausted! And now you’ve gotta put up with the two of us!” She paused, thinking a moment before adding, “Well, putting up with her is probably more challenging.“ She nodded her head towards the woman beside her, who was mid-sip. Slightly indignant, Ema rose from her glass and pointed an accusing finger at Paprika.

“Now that’s not fair, I can be civil,” Ema said. “I just need a drink or two, first!”

“Please, no one will be ‘putting up’ with anyone!” Fai said, feeling old habits kicking in as he pushed aside the sudden exhaustion from having been reminded of it. “You both seem perfectly charming.”

“A smart man!” Ema said, nodding once. “Good to see they still exist.”

“Don’t go insulting Beauchamp like that!” Paprika said, and Debray feigned a hurt expression.

It was a good group, full of dry humor and poking fun. After what felt like an interview in regards to his life in France (of which Fai managed to avoid answering most of the questions), Fai learned that Ema had a career in Forensics and hated a man of which she only referred to as ‘the fop’, who was either a rock star or a prosecuting attorney. Fai couldn’t quite tell which.

Paprika was a bit more congenial, and worked in an establishment with somewhat questionable morals as a waitress. Most of her clothes were on, she claimed. She also worked in some form of psychotherapy, but didn’t go into much detail about it. Fai thought better than to press--he was a bit too tired to try and feign understanding.

“So you obviously haven’t found work yet, right?” Paprika asked, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. She’d since ordered a drink, stirring the liquid in the short glass with a finger.

“That’s right,” Fai said, smiling. “I’m good, but not good enough to find a job in the first 4 hours of being in a country.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short!” she said. “A friend of mine is desperate for people in his cafe that he just opened. If you’d like, I can see if he’d like you to help out. It’s not too far from Beauchamp’s place, if you’re staying there.”

“If he’d like to have me, I would be honored to help,” Fai said before allowing himself a small yawn. “Oh, pardon me.”

“No need for apologies,” Paprika said, glancing over at the journalist beside Fai and smirking in her peculiar way. “You’ve got quite the social slave driver for a friend!”

“Don’t hold any punches now, Paprika,” Beauchamp moaned, taking the last swig of his whiskey. She smiled, her expression smug as she rested her chin atop the backs of her hands. “But in all seriousness, it is getting late. Bet you’ll sleep well tonight, right Fai?”

Fai smiled in spite of himself, feeling the empty bitterness clench at his chest from the hours spent trying to sleep without success over the last five weeks.

“Oh, definitely.”

“In that case, this is where we’ll say our goodbyes,” Beauchamp said, rising from the table as Fai quickly followed. Debray, it seemed, would catch a ride with one of the women, and so the two were alone in the car ride back to Robert’s place, only a few minutes away.

It was a cozy, one-bedroom apartment on the second floor. Fai was to have the living room until he found his own place, which wouldn’t take long with any luck. Apparently landlords were falling over themselves to get tenants, since no one could afford to move at the moment.

Beauchamp quickly disappeared into his room after they arrived and had carried Fai’s things into the house. Fai set them in a closet near the door and turned towards the couch, glancing at the pillow and blanket that lay on the arm, as though waiting for him. He felt relief creep slowly into his chest, swirling like a mist within him--cautious and dangerously fleeting.

He was home. Home for now, anyway. 9000 miles away from anyone that touched him, 9000 miles away from the stench of those hands, and hopefully 9000 miles away from sleepless nights.  
Fai lay down on the couch, spreading the blanket across himself as he pressed his back firmly into the back of the sofa, to be sure no one could sneak behind him. As if that could help.

Thankfully, after being awake for nearly 48 hours, he managed to sleep with little difficulty. Staying asleep, however, was the challenge. Apparently, he was not 9000 miles away from the nightmares.


	3. Little Bird

Two more weeks passed, and Fai found himself settling into a routine. The initial wave of emotion that he clung to with such desperation upon his arrival was quick to slip away from him, and just as it had been before, he had good days, and bad days. The good days were few and precious, allowing him somewhat normal conversation when he found himself in the company of others (which was quite often). The bad days ranged from mild depression to hours spent staring at a wall, thoughts running through his head, the inside of him battling to break free of the fragile walls he’d constructed around it. He’d run as far as he could, but the worst of the damage had already been internalized. And so, on those bad days, he would sit, his heart a dark, rotting lump in his chest.

It was on days like those that he avoided going out as much as he could. When he did and had the misfortune of running into someone particularly talkative, it hurt to listen, nod, engage himself in conversation. His voice pained him as it hummed through his throat, his chuckles nothing more than an echo of rattling bones within him.

He kept the world at an arm’s length, regardless of the day. Distance was safer. And keeping someone just between the tip of formality and friendliness was a good way to avoid any unwanted situations.

At least, that was his logic behind it. His first step in distancing himself from the world was in finding his own place, and he did just that. He managed to haggle it to something he could manage to continually afford and moved in less than a week after arriving.

His job at the café started hardly after he set his bags down on the floor of his place. It was a quaint place that called itself the Cat’s Eye Café, and had gained quite a bit of popularity in the month or so that it had been open. It was in the heart of downtown Burbank, only ten minutes away from the place Fai had managed to find in North Hollywood.

Fai had managed to create a life for himself, somehow. And on those rare good days, he almost felt as though there were some light at the end of the tunnel. But that light was always quickly doused, it seemed.

Music became his dirty little secret, something he hid from the world for fear of someone hearing and knowing what was wrong with him, what had happened.. With that came pity, and with pity came attention, and attention was not something that he wanted.

He hid everything away in a closet, playing only when he was alone, the strings crying out to the open air, his fingers caressing the cello as though it would help comfort him in some way. And maybe in some deep part of himself, he really hoped that someone might hear and understand his playing, as though it were an encoded message to someone, anyone that spoke the language.  

As time passed, when Fai wasn’t working, he’d taken to wandering around on foot, sometimes for hours at a time. Being locked up in the apartment for too long made it feel as though his thoughts got locked in there with him, and it was nearly stifling if he didn’t air his mind out. Each step tried to shake off the darkness that clung to him like a sheet being laid over a fresh mattress. Music could only serve to soothe him for so long, and he was running out of crossword puzzles. Of course, crossword puzzles were more difficult when you weren’t a native to the country that printed them, he found.  
Walking was a way of keeping his body occupied, and allowed his mind to remain distracted without requiring any actual thought. At times, it was difficult to process anything; reality seemed a fleeting notion. After all, he was a survivor of a word that for so many years was only a concept to him, and with this sudden blurring of the line between concept and reality, he found it difficult to keep it in focus. And as time passed, he felt as though the line between what was once himself and the persona he’d created in the aftermath of this horrific incident began to blur as well. Perhaps he’d started walking to try and find it again. Or perhaps he was walking to try and keep away from it. He’d become so adept at hiding his true intentions and feelings from people in such a short time that even he didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

He felt backed into a corner, horribly alone despite the fact that he was surrounded by people. Beauchamp was an old friend, and trustworthy--if he wanted to disclose what had happened, he felt as though Robert would understand. He hoped that Robert would understand. But the idea of burdening his friend with that sort of information didn’t seem appealing. And even if he wanted to spend the time with someone to distract himself, having to carry on like life was actually normal was so absolutely draining that to be alone and perpetually haunted by his thoughts was a more preferable option.  
He slowed, deep and thunderous music reaching his ears as he drew closer to a bar with a small collection of people outside of it, most of them smokers. He glanced at the building as he neared it--’Skinny’s’. Inside, he could hear the all-too-familiar sound of desperation, or rather, an upstart musician playing their heart out in front of a crowd of people in a bar who most likely couldn’t care less.  
Feeling an odd tug of homesickness, Fai stepped inside, surrounding himself with the smell of liquor. The bar lacked any smell of cigarette smoke, something that still caught him off-guard. Californians didn’t like their smokers, it seemed.

The bar was cozy and dark, benches lining the walls with tables scattered throughout the floor near the stage, along with a few ottoman-style chairs. People were sprinkled throughout, holding drinks halfheartedly between their fingers as they chatted, some more eager to impress than others. Pushing past the people at the bar, Fai decided to take advantage of the bar’s facilities before exploring what the bar itself had to offer. The door opened just before he reached it, nearly slamming him in the face as it did; behind it stood a young man, Japanese were Fai to guess and no older than 24, tall and dark with an even darker expression.

When one hears stories of a significant meeting, one always expects fireworks or magnificent backgrounds or something similar. What one doesn’t expect is to find someone of any particular importance while entering a men’s toilet. But a men’s toilet would have to do, because once the gears began to turn, they were hard to stop. One could always lie about the meeting later.

And yet, despite the less than glamorous setting, Fai felt something within him take a second look as the man pushed past him without any acknowledgement of his existence. His eyes, colored the deep red of a dull flame, flashed in the florescent light before he snuck through the crowd and took a seat. There was something in those eyes that Fai couldn’t quite place (aside from that rather extraordinary color), something in the stranger’s expression that intrigued him. 

After Fai exited the toilet, he took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink, sipping on it as he scanned the room, his eyes landing on the young man he’d run into earlier. His arms rested on his legs as he sat, and his head was lifted to watch the performance on the stage with pseudo-interest--he was trying to make an effort, at least. Every once in a while he would pull a pen out from behind his ear and scribble something on a small pad he had placed on the table before him.

The guy stuck out like a sore thumb in a place like this--in his time here, Fai had noticed that most people in bars went in groups of the same sex, to scope out the place, pick targets and try their best to attract them without actually approaching them. It was an amusing endeavor to watch, ending in failure more often than success, depending on who wanted to play hard to get.

However, this man seemed entirely uninterested in any man or woman near him, and devoted only a sliver of attention to the band playing. He was here, but it was obvious that he didn’t want to be--granted, no one else wanted to be there either; rather they‘d much rather be in a private place with a hot little something, but they were much better at hiding it. He was an amusing contradiction, and one that held Fai’s attention for a good amount of time.

After two bands finished their setlist, and while the third began to set up, Fai, for a reason unknown to even himself, crossed over to the cranky-looking patron with two drinks in hand.

“Is this seat taken?” Fai asked in his best American accent (he‘d tried practicing in his spare time), and the other turned his head in slight surprise.

“You know damn well that it’s not,” he replied, his voice low, gravelly, and did more than hint at his annoyance. “You’ve been staring at me the last hour. You should try and be more discreet.” He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms as he sighed and knitted his brow. “And before you ask, I’m not interested.”

“You sound like you say that often,” Fai said, taking a seat across from the dark-haired man, regardless of his lack of invitation. The corner of the other’s mouth pulled down in a curious expression of disgust when he did so.

“I attract all types, apparently.”

“Well, never you worry,” Fai said, placing one of the drinks beside the notebook on the table as he sipped delicately from his own. “I’m not a homosexual. At least, last I checked, I wasn’t. You just look so angry at the idea of even being here that I thought I might come and ease your suffering. I hope you like rum and coke.”

The other’s eyes narrowed cautiously as they glanced down at the drink in front of him. He glanced up again at Fai, looking much like a feral kitten as he hesitantly reached for the drink in front of him.  
“I don’t, but I don’t have much of a choice.”

“You know, you’re really not discreet, yourself,” Fai pointed out, folding his legs as he continued. “You’re not exactly hiding how you feel about being here, either.”

The man snorted and said, “I’ve got no reason to hide anything, unlike someone like you.”

Fai sat back and blinked in surprise, feeling the words sting him through the tough flesh of his façade. What exactly did he mean by that? Was he really that obvious? Could someone look at him and immediately see him as a ‘victim’? Did he still have that awful scent? Did he look like dirty, damaged goods? How much did he know? How much should Fai tell?

After a moment, Fai realized that he had most likely been referring to Fai’s staring, and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He smiled quickly to cover, pointing a playful finger at the other as he quickly retorted, “You play grizzled and miserable so well!”

“And you’re good at being an obnoxious idiot,” he snapped, lips thinning in irritation. “Guess it’s not much of a stretch.”

Fai laughed lightly, an empty decoration to the conversation. “One has to wonder!”

“I don’t have to wonder much,” the man snapped, getting to his feet as he spat out the last syllable. His drink sat untouched on the table beside Fai, but Fai wasn’t too heartbroken at the rejection of his ‘peace offering‘; rum and coke was a pretty poor choice on his part, anyway.

“Leaving so soon?” Fai asked, glancing up at the other as he threw his arms through the sleeves of his black zip-up hoodie.

“Fortunately, yes,” the black haired man replied before taking his leave, slipping through the crowd and pushing open the door with an eager fervor to reach the night air.

Fai sighed, slightly disappointed that his one source of real entertainment (no offense to the musicians, of course) had left. His eyes drifted back to the table, feeling the familiar weight of his depression sink into his gut now that he was free of distraction.

He blinked in surprise, once, then twice, as his mind processed the surface of the table his eyes had landed on. Or rather, what was laying on the surface of the table.

The notebook, still open, rested patiently before him. On the pages were a few nearly illegible notes by the man who had just stormed out from to Fai’s interruption of whatever strange brainstorming session he was having.

Fai picked it up, glancing it over for any information in regards to its owner and coming up empty in his search. Sighing, he flipped the notebook closed, getting to his feet and letting his own drink, practically untouched, sit beside the glass of his absent and angry neighbor. He quietly hoped that they could console each other for not being good enough.

He stepped outside and felt the night air on his face, a welcome change to the stuffy climate of the bar he’d subjected himself to for the last hour or two. Fai turned and headed in the general direction of home, the notebook tucked carefully under his arm as he strolled, another secret from the world, evidence of his abrupt meeting.

And as he continued to walk, he felt an odd spring in his step, and a sense of contentment settle into his skin; no doubt as fleeting as the rest of the hints of emotion he felt as time passed. But it was his first grasp of something, his first glimpse at a light in this darkness since his arrival here. As though he’d found a sliver of himself in the piles of shattered glass at his feet.  
The whispers of apologies, the breathing in his ear, the words that floated around him in that dark apartment in Southern France seemed to be carried away on the breeze, if only for a few hours. And in his freedom from himself, Fai thought he’d use the time valuably to try and meet with an elusive mistress: Sleep.

 

* * *

 

“This is just like Cinderella!” Paprika exclaimed, brown eyes wide with excitement as she picked up the notebook that Fai had placed on the table, thumbing through it eagerly.

It was late afternoon only a few days after his chance encounter with the cranky stranger at ‘Skinny’s’; Paprika, who had taken a liking to Fai, had called and invited him to come for a coffee nearby. Fai, for the sake of having something to talk about, decided to tell her of what happened the other night and showed her the notebook in the process. Truth be told, today was a day he would have much rather spent in the company of his instruments, but as it was difficult for him to say ‘no’ to a woman as nice as his acquaintance (especially one who had gotten him work!), he decided to come out and see her for the sake of it. And he did feel somewhat better after doing so, though Paprika’s energy level was difficult to match.

Truth be told, Fai had been carrying the notebook with him in a satchel, just in case he ever wandered into that man again. It was a refreshing change of pace, talking to someone who he knew didn’t like him in the least. In an odd way, it almost made him feel safe. And so the notebook almost became a physical manifestation of hope for him. For feeling human again. For feeling as though he could speak with someone without wondering if they had an ulterior motive.

“There’s no name in it,” Fai said, leaning back in his chair as he watched Paprika go through the motions he had before. “I’ve already looked.”

“Well, I wouldn’t doubt it,” she replied, setting it back down on the table between the two of them. “I can’t imagine he was planning on losing it in the first place! But you know, this just makes it all the more exciting if you do find him again. I’d be willing to bet the universe is trying to tell you something, there.”

“You seem awfully eager to…” he paused, feeling frustration build as he tried to remember any American slang for this sort of thing. He came up empty. “…put me in a relationship with a man.”

“Well, this is L.A.,” she returned, a sly grin spreading across her face. “It’s almost a surprise to find a straight man here anymore.”

Fai laughed half-heartedly, feeling weariness permeate his outer, sociable façade and settling into his bones. Was he homosexual? Was that a bad thing? Was it wrong of him to get in a relationship with a man after being assaulted by one? Should he feel guilty for humoring the thought? Did he even want to?

He cleared his throat, loosening the thoughts that had gathered in a lump and quickly swallowing them; no need to show weakness. Not here. Not now.

“Well, in any case,” Paprika said, resting her elbows on the table as she leaned forward. “At least now you have a way to break the ice if you do see him again.”

“I’ve no need to break ice,” Fai said, brows furrowing. Paprika looked equally confused for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Sorry, I meant start a conversation,” she said through chuckles as she wiped at a corner of her eye. “Though you’ll probably want to file that phrase away for later. It’ll make your life easier, trust me.”

Fai laughed sheepishly. “Probably. Though really, I don’t know why I’d pursue another conversation with him in the first place.” A lie, but mostly for himself. Though Paprika had been the one to get it in her mind that he had been more than amused by the stranger.

“True,” Paprika said. “He does sound like he’s a bit of a jerk. What did you say he looked like again?”

“Well,” Fai said, cocking his head to the side. “He’s tall, slim, and a few years younger than me, I think. Short, spiky black hair. Japanese. His eyes weren‘t dark like most, though.”

“Huh,” Paprika said, leaning back and folding her arms thoughtfully. “I know a guy who reminds me of what you’re describing, with the odd color eyes, but I don’t think he’s a journalist.” She smiled, mostly to herself. “Doesn’t seem the type, anyway. Seems like he’s more suited to be something more manly, I guess you’d say.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Kuro-something.”

“…Common name.”

She grinned sheepishly, scratching the tip of her nose as she continued. “Well, he’s one of those guys that I’ve only met once or twice, while in a big group. You know how crazy that can get.”  
Fai nodded, taking the notebook back into his possession and slipping it into his satchel, tucking away his fun little secret from the world, half-hoping, half-dreading that he’d meet the owner again.

“I suppose it’s time for me to take my leave,” Fai said, rising to his feet, and Paprika did the same. He’d had quite enough of humoring conversation for now, no matter how delightful the company. “But it was certainly a pleasure to see you again.”

“The same to you!” she cooed, winking. “I’ve got some stuff to take care of, too. But don’t be a stranger, okay? Feel free to give me a call anytime.”

Fai felt his stomach clench at the offer--if only she knew the true weight of offering that to him, were he to oblige it--and forced a weak smile before waving goodbye and quickly turning away, strolling back to his place at his leisure. Might as well enjoy the sun while it was still up.

He caught himself glancing at the faces of passersby, surprised at the hope that gathered and rested in his chest. And he felt a final question rise within him through all the others, as though he couldn’t let it rest before it was asked.

Where have you gone?


	4. Earth

Fai felt his heart stop and leap into his throat as he walked into the nearly empty bar just a few days after his rendezvous with Paprika. He had come back to Skinny’s just to have somewhere to go that wasn’t his apartment--he’d not worked in a day or two, and desperate to have some sort of human contact without actually coming in contact with humans, this was the first place that had popped into Fai’s mind. Upon walking in, he’d skimmed the faces of the few people that sat inside the bar.

And suddenly, the red-eyed stranger was there, sitting just where he had been before. Only this time, he was sitting with a bare table before him, the notebook an obvious and painful absence.  
Fai went directly to the stranger this time rather than watching from the bar, for fear that those keen red eyes might catch a glimpse of him and bolt before Fai had a chance to properly harass him.

…And return the notebook, of course.

Despite his initial desire to avoid conversation, Fai didn’t mind that he had to break his rule to talk to Mr. Cranky. He could pretend, put a face on and act human, for him, and talking with him was more amusing than exhausting. The guy could barely stand speaking to Fai. There was no bottom line. No reason for him to be nice. No sudden violations of his personal space done because ’he liked Fai’.  
Just… short, sweet, cranky conversation. 

“What a surprise to see you here again!” Fai said as he glided into the seat beside him, his accent slipping in his surprise. And he was fine with sounding a bit French--he had to think too hard to be American, and his accent wasn’t that great, anyway.

The man shot Fai a similar death-glare to the one from their last meeting. He looked Fai up and down in distaste, clucking his tongue as he looked away. “You were smarter to try and get me drunk last time.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t miss me,” Fai whined, eyes searching the other’s face desperately for some sort of name, something to refer to him as. Fai’s gaze settled on the other’s eyes. “…Red.”

Red eyes flashed in a rage.

“Who the hell is Red?!” he barked in response as he shot forward, voice a little too loud for their setting. Eyes from all around came and settled on the two of them, and suddenly, the hostile cleared his throat, leaning beck against the seat once again, feeling a heat settle into his ears. Fai chuckled, a small, modest, nearly genuine laugh.

“It’s not as though I know your name!” Fai replied, and the other snorted.

“And I’m keeping it that way!” Red’s voice was still louder than it should be, but now it was more controlled. Looks like nicknames really got under his skin. “Let’s just skip the bullshit and move to the part where you leave me the hell alone.”

“I’ve no problem with that,” Fai said, looking away as he summoned a mockingly forlorn expression. On the stage, a duo act featuring a guitarist and a cellist finished their sound check and set up. Fai felt an odd sense of longing, but pushed it to the side as he continued his teasing. “But you wouldn't have your notebook. Of course, if you’d still like for me to go, then I’ll do just that.”

He reached into his bag, pulling his treasure from the last week out and dangling it in front of Red. The other’s expression changed, his face a tragic yet hilarious caricature of helpless anger. His lips thinned into a straight line and he folded his arms, eyes fixated on the prize dangling between Fai’s fingers. Were there a piece of raw meat in it’s place Fai would imagine that a lion’s expression would match that of his smouldering acquaintance quite perfectly. And it was enthralling, really, to have tamed such a powerful creature with so little effort.

Fai could feel Red in his hands, molding his mood and expressions like wet clay, aggravating and soothing it with just a word or two. It was empowering to manipulate his emotions so easily, and it bred a sense of control, something he felt as though he lacked entirely since he was attacked. It left a sweet taste in his mouth, one that lingered from their previous meeting; it was addictive.

“Don’t tell me you stole that,” Red nearly snarled, eyes finally moving from the cardboard cover to meet that of the person who was trying to have a conversation… Or at least, pretend to try.

“I would never!” Fai cried, feigning indignance. “You left it here last week, after storming out in a huff; quite careless of you, Red!”

Suddenly, a hand snapped forward, snatching the notebook from Fai’s grip, and the stranger was suddenly very close, those red eyes Fai had chosen to use as a name nearly filling his vision. A finger, long and thick, rose up just below Fai’s chin as it pointed aggressively toward the center of his collarbones. 

“Don’t call me Red,” he growled, jaw muscles working furiously in irritation, hot breath brushing against Fai‘s face. An aura surrounded this man that was suddenly in Fai’s personal space, burning with intensity, and Fai felt himself being swallowed by it. He blinked, his face betraying surprise and alarm at the proximity, and felt his heart flutter in a panic as he remembered the last time anyone had been this close.

Fai’s hands shook slightly as he reached out, more out of subconscious motivation than anything, and put his hands on the other’s shoulders, pushing him back slightly, trying desperately to put his head back on straight. Red obliged, knowing that his point had been made, and flopped back in his seat. His eyes, curiously enough, remained on Fai.

A moment of silence passed between them, and Fai felt the milliseconds pass them by, aging them, etching into his skin, painfully obvious that he had nothing to say, and that he should say something, just to cover for the fact that he was losing his mind in this silence. He felt exposed, totally so, like he was a book with comically large font lying open on a pedestal, and all one had to do was turn a few pages back from this moment to see...

He smiled halfheartedly in a desperate attempt to close the cover, leaning back in his seat.

“I’ll be sure to once I have an option to do otherwise,” Fai said finally, his voice like a roll of thunder, timid at first and then eventually gaining in confidence, the wrinkles around his eyes making an appearance as he did, trying to make his smile more genuine.

It didn’t work; rather, Red stared at him with that same dubious expression, tinted now with his fury at being referred to by anything other than his real name… which he refused to disclose. And for a reason, no doubt.

On stage, the duo that had been setting up began to play, the man speaking quickly into the microphone before strumming the first few chords of a song on his guitar. The cellist, a young woman with dark hair that fell to her hips, ran her bow along the strings, closing her eyes, shutting out the world, feeling the music with her fingers and hips as she ran them along the back of her cello.  
Fai found himself entranced by the spectacle, watching her play, letting himself step out of his mind, out of the bar, and into his apartment, where his own cello resided. He was there, playing it, fingering the stings and letting the deep hum of the note fill him, caressing his heart, as though the resonation might make it beat. Might make him feel again.

He must have let his thoughts get the better of his expression, because Red’s eyes never left him, his eyes scrutinizing, processing, sorting away for later. And he saw everything.

Fai felt his eyes on him, and he was pulled from his momentary fantasy, back into the bar. He smiled in confusion, a slight upward pull of the corners of his mouth, and asked, “What? Have you suddenly changed your mind about me?” Fai leaned forward, his finger circling in a teasing manner before poking Red in the shoulder. “Have I suddenly seduced you?”

“No,” he grunted in response, folding his arms. “You creep me the hell out.”

Fai pouted, bottom lip sneaking out slightly, as though to prove a point. “You’re so cruel. Why is it that you hate me so much?” Fai tipped his head, as though shifting thoughts in his mind. “Aside from the nickname, of course. And the drink. And the fact that you think I’m coming on to you.”

Well, it seemed as though he had quite a few justifiable reasons, really. But despite his question practically being answered for him, Red decided to do so himself, and it wasn’t an answer that Fai was expecting.

“You act like you’ve got shit to hide,” he said, the words quick, blunt, and gruff. Fai’s eyes narrowed, the lids drooping to half-mast, as though to commemorate the death of his façade. The smile still remained, valiant in the defense of its master.

“What makes you say that?”

“You know better than I do,” Red said, shifting his shoulders against the back of the seat. “You’re the one that has to live in that head.”

Fai felt himself retract, physically and mentally; the world around them blurred, the sounds drowned out by his words. His eyes dulled, betraying his lifelessness for just a moment, and he felt his walls crack at the base. So much for controlling Red’s emotions; when had Fai fallen on the defensive?

“Indeed I do,” Fai said, resting a cheek on the back of his hand. “But I’m afraid I just don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Red snorted, shaking his head as he got to his feet. “Even you can’t convince yourself of that.” He reached into his pocket, fishing out a five dollar bill and tossing it onto the table. “Buy yourself a drink,” he said, the slightest hint of pity shining through the irritation in his voice. “You need it.”

Fai’s eyes fell on the money that had been left for him, Red’s words echoing in his ears as his departing footsteps were swallowed up by the noise around him. Fai reached his hand out, wrapping his fingers around the bill as he tried to wrap his mind around what had been said.

“You might wanna give up while you’re behind,” came a voice from behind him, and Fai whipped around to see who was addressing him. A man in his mid-twenties stood, arms folded, in a grey sweatshirt and jeans. His black hair was short, buzzed, and a thin scar trickled from just above his top lip to below the bottom one.

“Pardon?” Fai said, his congeniality returning to him.

“That asshole’s been coming here for two years now,” the man said, an east coast accent softening his ‘t‘s. “I’ve been bartending twice as long as that, and I’ve never met someone who’s as closed off as that guy.”

“So he’s always this charming?”

“You bet. Doesn’t matter who’s approaching him--could be Angelina-Fucking-Jolie for all he cared, and he’d still give her the cold shoulder. Just doesn’t like any kind of bullshit in his life, I guess.”

“That’s a rather rare find here, I’d imagine,” Fai said. While he’d been here less than a month, even he could see that Los Angeles only continued to breathe because of drama, falsity, and flakiness. It was why he blended in so damn well.

“You bet,” the bartender said, rubbing the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “Can’t really blame the guy. Always tips pretty decently, too, so who am I to complain?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “But still, while I don’t live with the guy or anything, I’m pretty familiar with his track record in terms of friendships or one night stands. And let me tell you, there ain’t none with him.”

“You sure know quite a bit about him.”

“I’m a bartender,” he said simply. “I know everything.”

“His name?”

“No clue. Always pays in cash.”

Fai sighed, feeling defeated. It was like Red didn’t exist in the real world; rather, he was just a storm that came and ruffled everything in Fai’s mind before leaving him in complete disarray.

“Ah, well,” Fai said, getting to his feet. “Might as well be off, then. Thank you for the advice.”

“Hey, no use wastin’ energy that don’t need to be wasted,” the bartender said.

“Truer words were never spoken,” Fai said, smiling. “In any case, perhaps we’ll meet again, Mr…?”

“Miles. Desmond Miles,” the bartender said, nodding. “And I wouldn’t doubt it. I saw you here the other night. Fai, right?”

Fai blinked in surprise. “You… do know everything.”

“Name on the card,” Desmond grinned, shrugging. “In any case, if you wanna go for round three, I’d suggest scotch. That’s his usual poison.”

“I appreciate it!” Fai said, nodding in thanks as he headed towards the door.

Desmond laughed, shouting as Fai went away, “If someone can get that bastard to break a smile, I’d like to see it, that’s all I’m saying!”

Fai stepped out of the bar, breathing in the fresh air as he headed back toward his apartment. It was unusually hot for a late evening in May, probably the first of many. Fai had, unfortunately, heard a lot about how brutal the San Fernando Valley was during the summer. This part of California was also famous for only having two seasons--warm, and hot.

As he strolled home, keeping a careful eye for anyone suspicious, Fai felt himself mulling back on what Red had said to him in the bar, and how he had felt in regards to it. He had regressed entirely for a moment, back to that room in Southern France, back to when he had just been laying and crying on a pillow as a hand pressed into his back. He could still feel it, as though that man were here, touching him, trying to convince him that somehow what he had done was okay.

Fai shuddered, trying to shake off the handprint in vain. He’d lost himself in that bar, thanks to Red, and found himself on his knees for a moment. He needed to get a grip, to try and reverse the flow, the great, slow bleeding out of his mind and senses, and what was left of himself with it.

But how…?

 

* * *

 

“I just can’t decide!” the little girl wailed, her cheeks red in embarrassment as she gazed over the confections behind the glass. A pair of wide, brown eyes looked up in desperation, honestly in a state of peril. “What would you recommend?”

Fai smiled, amused by her honesty, and envious of her innocence. If only his biggest problem could be deciding what pastry to purchase. Then again, were that the case, he probably wouldn’t be in this country in the first place.

He was working at the Cat’s Eye Café--it was a rainy Sunday afternoon, only an hour shy of closing time. It had been quiet, save for the hour-long rush that always happened after the nearby church let out. Most Sundays were spent people watching, and today was no different, aside from his current customer. She was cute, 12 years old at best. Her hair was a light brown and short, bits of her bangs pulled up by small hair-ties.

“I can certainly understand your predicament!” Fai said, leaning his arms on the counter. “I couldn’t decide what I wanted at first, either! So I decided to stick with something simple, something that I knew. Have you ever tried a cannoli before?”

The girl shook her head a puzzled expression on her face. Fai smiled, leaning over behind the case and pointing at a rather delectable example.

“That’s a cannoli. And I have to say, they’re quite good. Would you like to get one, or perhaps something else?”

The girl’s eyes widened, and Fai knew he’d found a winner. He chuckled, showing a bit of his teeth as he grinned, and opened the case. “I’ll go ahead and ring this up for you, then.”

“Workin’ hard, Fai?” came his boss’s voice from the kitchen doorway, and Fai glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge his presence.

“Always, Kuhn!”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Kuhn said, stepping forward and resting his hands on his hips. He was an odd-looking guy to one who wasn’t used to his appearance; not to say that he had an unattractive face, but it was rather what he decided to do with it.

Kuhn was a man around Fai’s age who had gotten tired of living life by someone else’s rules, and decided to live by his own by opening his own store. He was tall and thin, but with a decent amount of muscle hiding beneath his yellow T-shirt. His hair, long and thick, was dyed an almost obscene teal color and pulled back into a massive ponytail, and tattoos decorated his face; two small tribal designs, one on each cheek. At first, it had intimidated people, but now it was a rather iconic part of his shop’s brand.

Fai finished up ringing up the young girl just as another young lady poked her head in the door, looking for her friend, apparently.

“Ah, Sakura,” the newcomer said, stepping into the shop. “There you are. Your father was getting worried.”

“We can’t have that!” Kuhn said, smiling as he headed for the case. “I’m so sorry to keep the two of you waiting.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” Sakura’s friend said, tossing her long black hair back behind her shoulder.

“I insist,” Kuhn said, pulling two more cannolis out of the case and placing them carefully in Sakura’s bag. “After all, we kept such a nice young lady waiting in the rain. And besides, what fun is it to watch someone eat a pastry? You and her father can most certainly have one as well. On me!”

The second girl blushed, nodding her head quickly as she thanked him. Sakura did the same and grabbed her bag, and the two girls left the store, a smiling, giggling mess. Kuhn’s one weakness was women, of all ages; not to say that he targeted the younger ones, but rather, he always went out of his way to make sure that they were happy. And of course, when there was one that was in his age range, he made sure to pay her very special attention. It was amusing enough to watch, especially when he was turned down. 

Kuhn was hardly one to let anything get him down, and so by being in his company, Fai found it easy to pretend. All conversation was light, cheery, and lacked any pressure. He was a beam of positivity, a calm eye in a hurricane of problems, it seemed.

“Are you sure it’s okay to give them that for free?” Fai asked, surprised at his business tactics. Kuhn shrugged, smile remaining on his lips.

“It’s nearly closing; we’d have to throw them out, anyway!” Kuhn replied, glancing over what was left in the display case and taking a mental stock. “Besides, it’s good for business. They’ll definitely be back.”

“I see,” Fai said, nodding sagely. “So it wasn’t just your weakness for women coming into play.”

“Hey now,” Kuhn said, putting out his hand and resting it on the air before him, as though it would help his defense. “I love kids, but I don’t love ‘em that much.”

Fai chuckled, and Kuhn headed back towards the kitchen door.

“I’m gonna go run some numbers for a bit, so just let me know if you need any help, okay?”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine--it is a Sunday, after all.”

“You never know!” Kuhn said, peeking his head out from behind the doorframe. “It could be National Bum-rush Bakeries Day!”

“I’ll be sure to shout for you if it is!” Fai said, shaking his head in amusement as he reached under the front counter for window spray. No doubt the case would need cleaning, and he was at a lack of things to do.

Fai was perfectly armed for the task and in the middle of carrying it out when the door opened again. He sighed in slight frustration--people always came in at the most awkward times--and said over his shoulder quickly, “Please forgive the mess of the window, I’ll try and clean this quickly for you.”

A pause, then a deep, conflicted sigh.

That wasn’t a normal reaction. Fai glanced over his shoulder, surprised at who he found there.

“So we meet again, Liebling!” Fai cried, throwing out a German term of endearment as his expression changed. Red stood in the doorway, obviously torn as to whether or not he wanted to stay due to the person that was supposed to be ‘helping’ him. Fai took this as a chance to try and get back that feeling of control. He would win today. Red wouldn’t be leaving Fai as he had the time before; Fai felt an odd sense of competitiveness rise within him, his smile having more of a sly tint as he continued. “I’m impressed that you recognized me in the daylight. How are you today?”

“What the hell is a ‘Liebling’?” Red asked, even though he knew he wouldn’t like the answer. He was surprisingly quiet in asking--rather, his voice wasn’t booming at the idea of being called a nickname. Red looked almost… resigned, his voice tired, as though he was giving up in struggling against the universe and humoring it’s sadistic desire to have them meet.

“It’s a pet name,” Fai said, turning back to the case momentarily to finish his cleaning job. “German, actually. Since I still don’t know what to call you.”

Red made a face, brows furrowing as he asked, “Are you German?”

“Nein,“ Fai said. “But it’s fun to pretend.”

“Then where the hell are you from? You sound like Jean Claude Van Damme.”

Now it was Fai’s turn to make a face; truly, Van Damme was a shining example of his fellow countrymen. Granted, while it was expected for that comparison to come out of a person like Red, Fai almost would have preferred the candlestick in that Disney movie. At least Lumiere wasn’t in the Street Fighter movie.

“You surprise me,” Fai said, turning back to his work. “When did you start caring about anything about me?”

“Who said that I did?”

Fai smiled to himself, amused at the resilience his partner in conversation displayed. Fai almost wondered if he wasn’t the only one in denial.

“Ah, my mistake,” he sighed, wiping off the last of the cleaner on the glass, placing his damp rag on the counter beside the spray. “I suppose there’s no point in answering the question, then.”

Red sighed, looking up at the ceiling as though asking some higher power for patience. He was doing well, Fai had to admit; not even once had he raised his voice… yet.

“Fine, then,” he said, running his fingers through his short, black hair, as though it would help him think. “What languages do you speak?”

Ah, so he thought that would help narrow it down? Fai grinned, almost insidiously, as he answered.

“I speak four.”

“Fuckin’ Europeans,” Red muttered under his breath, shaking his head. It was difficult for Fai to tell if the visitor was impressed or angry, but he had a feeling that most emotions the other felt were tinted with some form of rage.

“One has to give information to get it!” Fai sang as he glided behind the counter, spraying multi-purpose cleaner along it and wiping it down cheerfully.

“Then I guess there’s no point in talking,” he replied, folding his arms and staring pointedly at the remaining pastry behind the glass. Fai found himself chuckling, delighted at their verbal stand-off.

“You’re so cold, Red,” Fai pouted, and he could almost hear the other climb into a boil.

“I told you--” Red started, his voice the hissing water that boiled over and hit the fire beneath the pot. He cut himself quickly, and Fai allowed himself a quick glance over at the other, watching him try to regain his composure. Red must have realized what Fai was trying to do. It took away a bit of the fun in teasing him, but was still interesting to observe nonetheless. “--Dammit, I’ve tried being patient--”

“Have you really?” Fai cut him off quickly, leaning forward on the counter, half-lidded eyes staring the other down, infuriating smile still painted on his lips.

“--But you always want a war with me. I don’t have to put up with this bullshit when I’m not working.”

Fai clapped his hands together in delight, having gotten his first piece of information about the other, albeit only a slip-up. 

“So you were working!” he said, leaning forward on the counter. “Are you a writer? Lyricist?”

Red snorted, raising his chin indignantly. “None of your business.”

Fai sighed, his smile remaining on his lips as he allowed his head to dip in frustration. He slowly continued his work, speaking as he did.

“We have a word for you, you know,” he said as he wiped off the rest of the counter, going now for the top of the display case. Fai would not outright tell his grumpy friend anything about him, but he could give a hint in silent thanks for the accidental intel. He glanced at Red, eyes meeting his for a brief moment before returning to his work, smile still etched on his lips. “Têtue.”

“The hell does that mean?” was the gruff reply, and Fai didn’t allow himself to glance over as he answered.

“Stubborn.”

“Better than being an idiot,” Red snapped, and Fai could have sworn that his hair bristled as he did. Red was like a giant, untrained dog at the end of a leash, putting up with the person holding it (or rather, society) simply because it was more convenient to do so.

“So, is there anything that suits your fancy today, Mr. Têtue?” Fai asked, and the death glare returned in full force.

“God dammit, just give me a turnover,” the reluctant customer said, rubbing his forehead in distaste. Fai nodded cheerfully, striding over to the appropriate section of the case before pulling out the desired pastry and bagging it for Red with an almost sickening smile.

“Good choice, if I do say so myself,” Fai said, lying it on the counter as he rang it up on the register. “Molto bene, Signore.“

“Whatever,” Kurogane muttered, tossing three dollars on the counter beside the bag before grabbing it 

“Thank you!” Fai said, placing the cash in the register as he called after the rogue customer. “Come again!”

“Don’t count on it.”

The door shut, almost echoing through the empty bakery, finality ringing in his ears as Fai sighed and leaned against the wall behind him, staring absentmindedly at nothing in particular.

“Well,” he said to himself. “That went well.”

 

* * *

 

Fai found himself, less than a handful of days later, back in the company of his American acquaintances. Thanks to the ever-so-reliable public transportation, he’d arrived fashionably late to a party they were holding at Paprika’s home, which was of an admirable size for a house in the city. After being greeted at the door, he was quickly pulled in and introduced to a handful of people; the few people he knew were there as well, though scattered throughout the room. Ema stood, talking with one of the unfamiliar faces about some scientific thing or another, and Beauchamp was hiding off in a corner, no doubt lost in a sea of incomprehensible lingo.

Apparently, the party was being thrown for the successful construction of some sort of new psychotherapy machine at the reputable job that Paprika worked at. The device was apparently top-secret, which explained why Beauchamp wasn't chomping at the bit for a story. There was nothing they were allowed to tell.

After the wave of introductions, Fai managed to break free from Paprika, making his way for Beauchamp as quickly as possible so as not to get cornered in conversation. He was good at smiling and nodding, but rather liked to avoid it. At least, he wanted to today.

“Good to see you survived the introductions,” Beauchamp said, raising a glass of some sort of alcoholic beverage to his lips. “I didn’t think I’d make it out alive. There’s so many doctors here that I think their collective IQ equals the square footage on this house.”

“Well, I think being a great deal more charming helps when meeting people,” Fai said, winking, and Beauchamp shook his head.

“I ain’t Lucien Debray, that’s for sure. Oh, which reminds me--” Beauchamp’s eyes searched the room, trying to find a familiar face. “There’s someone I wanted you to meet.”

“Is that so? Is this the friend from before?”

“You are correct, mon ami,” he replied, apparently spotting who it was he wanted to introduce and motioned someone over. Fai, curious to see who the elusive man was, glanced around for anyone approaching.

His eyes met with a rather familiar face, and he almost didn’t hear Beauchamp as he tried to introduce them.

“Kurogane! This is my friend from France that I was telling you about.”

Red stood behind Fai, face utterly lacking in any expression. Fai’s eyebrows raised slightly, mouth pursing in surprise. Well... this was an interesting development. Kurogane’s hand went to his forehead, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he muttered quietly under his breath, “Son of a bitch.”


	5. Swoon, Part 1

Kurogane wasn’t one for science, or really actively using his mind. He was a writer, if you could call slapping news on a page that, but even then, what he wrote was very cut-and-dry. Factual (mostly). Direct.  
  
So how he’d managed to find himself in a room surrounded by people talking about mechanical operations of a device that monitored and recorded subconscious images for the sake of psychological study and recovery, he wasn’t quite sure. At Beauchamp’s insistence, he’d decided to go out for the night, leaving behind his cozy apartment and lukewarm glow of his television set for social activity, something that was very low on his list of things he enjoyed doing.  
  
The house was nice, Kurogane had to admit. That red-head was sure making some bank doing… whatever it was that she did. Which apparently, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to be a half-naked waitress or a doctor. Kurogane found himself in the same situation many a time.  
  
_Not._  
  
And so he hid, leaning against a wall in a side room with free booze in hand, nursing it slowly as he watched the time pass. He recognized two faces, aside from the asshole who’d invited him (and he’d get Beauchamp back for that, he swore it); the two women that usually trailed after Robert--the obnoxiously happy waitress-doctor and the kinda-cranky what’s-her-face.  
  
Obviously, Kurogane was stellar with names. But really, he’d met these women maybe four times. Hell, Kurogane could count the number of close friends he had on one hand. Two fingers, even. Beauchamp might have been one of them, but he was on thin ice with all these invites to parties.  
  
He sighed when he heard his name called by the French asshole, pushing himself off the wall half-heartedly before making his way to the other man, somewhat quickly at first but his steps slowing as he saw a familiar crop of messy blond hair that framed an irritating face.  
  
So there were  _four_  people he claimed to know at this party. Damn. He’d give anything to go back down to three.  
  
“Kurogane! This is my friend from France that I was telling you about,” Beauchamp said, and Kurogane was only half-aware that he was speaking.  
  
“Son of a bitch,” he growled, and the obnoxious blond that he couldn’t get away from gave him a curious look. He looked just as surprised to see Kurogane again, and really, what reason was there in shoving this guy, of all people, in his face repeatedly.  
  
Kurogane wasn’t a believer in karma (or really, much of anything), but he couldn’t help but take a moment to ask the Universe what he’d done to deserve such torture.  
  
“Actually, we call him Fai,” Beauchamp said. “Fai Flowright. He’s the best musician you’ll ever meet. Damn good cellist.”  
  
Kurogane grunted in reply, his eyes narrowing at the blond as he was ‘introduced’ against his will. A cellist, huh? That explained that weird look in the bar at the girl who was playing the other night. Though why Kurogane had decided to commit that expression to memory, he wasn’t quite sure. There was something about this guy--the way he acted like a shallow moron but was hiding something as he did, and poorly. There was a depth, in his expressions, in his words, that intrigued Kurogane, though he didn’t want to admit it.    
  
“We’ve already met, actually,” Fai spoke first, breaking the stalemate between the two. Beauchamp seemed surprised.  
  
“Have you? Where?”  
  
“In a bar,” Fai said, his eyes never leaving Kurogane, lips curling up in a competitive smirk. “He was writing something, said it was for work. Tell me, Beauchamp. Does Kurogane work as a writer?”  
  
“He does!” Beauchamp said, smiling and patting the seething, red-eyed man on the shoulder. So that was how Fai wanted to play this game. “As a journalist for some local papers, as well as an indie music magazine. Kurogane knows just about anything about local bands here, the poor bastard.”  
  
“That would explain the frequent bar visits,” Fai said. “And here I thought he was a lush.”  
  
“I can’t argue that,” Beauchamp said, laughing. “Although you might wanna watch out. This guy can drink you under the table without breaking a sweat!”  
  
Fai’s smug smirk never left his face as details about Kurogane’s life continued to pour out of Beauchamp’s mouth. Suddenly, what seemed to be ‘none of Fai’s business’ just a few days ago was now perfectly fine to share, simply because of a mutual friend. With their verbal stand-off for information in the bakery, Kurogane had been determined not to slip up and divulge anything first.  Damn it.  
  
He sighed, excusing himself as Fai continued to talk to Beauchamp about everything he could possibly think of, trying to quell the sickening knot in his stomach as he sipped on his scotch.  
  
Nosy asshole.  
  
“Don’t look too excited,” cranky what’s-her-face said (also known as Ema, but Kurogane thought his way of referring to her suited her), sneaking beside him with a drink of her own. “People will think you actually want to be here.”  
  
“I think everyone here gives about as much of a shit about me as I do them,” Kurogane said, sipping again as he caught eyes with the obnoxious idiot who seemed insistent on involving himself in Kurogane’s life. “Except for that damn blond guy.”  
  
“You mean Fai?” Ema said, meeting the blond’s gaze as well and smiling as congenially as she could at him. “What’s your problem with him?”  
  
“He won’t leave me the hell alone,” Kurogane growled, scowling as he recalled all of Fai’s offenses. “He keeps running into me and calling me these obnoxious nicknames. And then, that asshole--” Kurogane stopped himself, realizing that this could only lead into an unstoppable rant, and took a breath. “Nevermind.”  
  
“He’s nice enough, if you give him a chance,” she said, glancing up at the man beside her. “Can’t say you’re the easiest guy to get along with.”  
  
“I’m sure you’re winning Miss Congeniality awards at your forensic beauty contests,” Kurogane growled, and suddenly, he felt something hit his face. He glanced down at her irritably, seeing that she had miraculously pulled out a baggy of those weird snacks she always ate. “What the hell?!”  
  
“A lady can have a career these days, you know!” She said, shoving a Snackoo in her mouth before throwing another one at him. “Women are more than looks, you jerk.”  
  
“Lucky for you.”  
  
She shot him another warning glance, a second Snackoo halfway in her mouth. Kurogane waved a hand, though it was unclear as to whether or not it was indicating that he was joking, apologizing, or simply brushing her off. She accepted it as one of the first two and decided to continue eating.  
  
“See if I ever get you an internship again…” she muttered to herself as she continued to eat, her face lighting up as she watched Fai break out of his conversation with Beauchamp. She raised her hand, waving him over, and Fai obliged, though hesitating for a moment after seeing who her company was.  
  
“The hell are you doing?!” Kurogane hissed as he saw Fai approach at her invitation, and she shot an angelic look in his direction.  
  
“Making your life difficult,” she said, smiling innocently. It didn’t suit her. At all. Kurogane felt his skin crawl at her sickeningly sweet glance and sighed heavily, resigning himself to whatever circle of hell required him to spend any time with this blond guy that had suddenly waltzed into his life.  
  
“So good to see you again, Ema,” Fai said, nodding in greeting as she did the same. “I hope you have been well?”  
  
“I can’t brag, but yeah, things have been okay,” she said, turning to Kurogane to forcefully include him in the conversation. “Kurogane here was just telling me about how much he missed you.”  
  
Fai’s eyebrows raised as his eyelids drooped and he grinned slyly, glancing over at their victim. “Is that so? I knew he would grow to like me. How long has it been, Red? 3 days? 4?”  
  
Kurogane said nothing, only narrowing his eyes and thinning his lips in a rage.  
  
“Come to think of it, it’s nearly been a month since we’ve met,” Fai said, leaning his weight on a hip as he brought a hand to his chin thoughtfully, reflecting. “Time certainly does fly.”  
  
“A month!” Ema said. “You two should already be the best of friends by now.”  
  
“I certainly think so,” Fai said, inching over to Kurogane and elbowing him playfully. “We’ve got such great chemistry, don’t you think?”  
  
Kurogane saw red once the physical contact was initiated, and muttered something under his breath about murder as he stormed away from the two of them and headed for the back door, shooting Beauchamp an angry look as he passed him. Ema and Fai quickly exchanged glances, her face betraying a bit of surprise.  
  
“Well, he certainly likes you, doesn’t he?”  
  
“Immensely,” Fai said ruefully, sighing as he smiled and leaned against the wall. “Of course, I’m sure I’m no help, and I’d probably stop teasing if it weren’t so funny.” He shrugged, and Ema chuckled, shaking her head.  
  
“You’re a brave guy, I gotta tell you that,” she said, folding her arms and leaning against the wall behind her. “He’s a tough person to get to in the first place, so best of luck with the rest of… whatever you’re doing.”  
  
“ _Merci_ ,” Fai said, thinking. What exactly  _was_  he doing, anyway?  


* * *

  
  
Kurogane was not exactly what some might call a busy man, nor did he pretend to be. His main source of income was from the indie music paper, which required him to stay on top of a few bars’ players as well as write some reviews of their music. At times it certainly required a lot of patience and a knack for bullshitting when it came to reviews, because were Kurogane to say exactly what he wanted to say about some of these bands, he wouldn’t be able to keep his job for long. Instead, the publication told him who they wanted to be nice to and who he was able to let loose on, and God help the ones that were picked to be the butt of the paper that week. One had to wonder if he was being frank and telling the truth at times, or simply using that one band as an outlet for all his frustration.  
  
That being said, he was a decent writer, and could fake pleasantness (on paper, at least) when money was involved. One might call that sort of behavior bordering on that of a sell-out, but whoever called it that to his face could kindly suck on his fist. He made no secrets of his mood or feelings towards other people in public, although that might be due to the fact that he felt he had to compensate for the way he behaved on paper.  
  
Kurogane was 22 years old, fresh out of a 2-year college with a degree in English. As to the circumstances leading to why he even pursued higher education in the first place, we’ll just vaguely refer to his parents looking down on a career as a martial artist and leave it at that. He was young, without much to apologize for in his short life, and lived with no regrets. Well, at least in a way that wouldn’t leave him rotting in jail. He was a man that believed only in coincidences, never in destiny or karma or anything else.  
  
He was alone in his small apartment one afternoon, enjoying his peace and quiet by taking the time to clean his place. He was usually an early riser, despite his frequent late nights, and so had greeted the day quite a few hours before and was simply killing time. Today he had nothing on his plate; while this fact may have been initially delighting, he soon found himself bored and restless and tried any way he could to busy his hands without actually going out.  
  
His cell phone rang, a sudden and alarming interruption to his quiet time, but given the fact that he was chomping at the bit for a distraction, he quickly picked it up with no complaint. He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the caller ID--unknown number--and flipped it open to answer.  
  
“Kurogane.”  
  
Short, direct, to the point. God help the person on the other line if it were a telemarketer.  
  
“Schatzi!” Came a cry from the speaker, the voice male but annoyingly effeminate. Kurogane pulled the phone from his ear, glancing again at the number in confusion. Who the hell--?  
  
“Wrong number,” he replied gruffly, preparing to hang up.  
  
“Oh no, I’ve got the right one!” the voice on the other line said. “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten me, Red.”  
  
Kurogane felt his face fall and a headache build behind the backs of his eyes from his white hot fury at being harassed while inside of his own home. Couldn’t this idiot get enough of stalking him outside?! It had only been four days since he’d last run into that asshole.  
  
“How the  _hell_  did you get my number?!” Kurogane shouted into the phone, free to raise his voice to whatever decibel he pleased, now that he was outside of society’s prying eyes.  
  
“I promised that I wouldn’t tell,” the obnoxious blond cooed--what was his name? High? Faye? Idiot?  
  
“So Beauchamp, then,” Kurogane grunted in distaste. A nervous chuckle came from the other line.  
  
“Well, that mystery aside, I have a bit of a proposition for you.”  
  
“I’ve already got your answer.”  
  
“Now, now, hear me out, Kuro-chou,” Fai said, almost chidingly. “I know that you and I have not entirely gotten off on the right foot--”  
  
“You think?”  
  
“--so I was wondering if perhaps I could somehow try and make it up to you,” Fai finished, pushing past the snark in a desperate yet honest attempt to reach out and be a human being. Stressing the word “attempt”, of course.  
  
“I don’t need an apology,” Kurogane growled, and he could feel distaste swirling in his guts. “I don’t go home and cry every time someone pisses me off.”  
  
“Of course!” Fai said, in a sickeningly sweet tone. “Forgive me if I made you feel as though you did. But regardless, I would very much like to do my best to do right by you, as we do have a mutual friend and it would be nice if we could be… well, civil!”  
  
“Civil? How about you call me by my damn name for once?”  
  
“Let’s not get overboard with the demands, Red,” Fai said flatly, as though offended. It was sad when you could tell you were being mocked over the phone by someone you hardly even knew. Kurogane felt his shoulders tense.  
  
“Let’s pretend that this is a world where I am just as stupid as you and I humor this request,” Kurogane said, rubbing his eyes, counting to ten, thinking of other ways for him to try and keep his temper. “What exactly are you suggesting?”  
  
“Perhaps dinner? Or a movie?”  
  
“What, no moonlit walk on the beach?” Kurogane snorted.  
  
“I’d be paying, of course.”  
  
Kurogane bristled, alarm bells suddenly going off in his head.  
  
“Are you asking me out on a  _date?_ “ he said in distaste. “You said you weren’t gay!”  
  
“Oh, and I’m not!” Fai cried, and Kurogane could hear the smile in his voice. “I consider myself to be… one who takes advantages of opportunities."

A scoff escaped Kurogane before he muttered, "That's a weird way of saying 'bisexual'."

"But in any case--" Fai continued, ignoring the label.  Kurogane ran the pads of his fingers across his forehead, frustration gathering painfully behind his eyes.  "It wouldn’t be a date unless you want it to be, Kuro-chou. And if you do, I promise to be gentle.”  
  
Kurogane felt the heat grow in his ears, though he wasn’t sure if it was from anger or embarrassment, and spat, “Like hell, you will!!”  
  
“All right, all right,” Fai said, laughing on the other line. “I promise I’ll stop teasing you. Once you stop making it so easy, that is. But I would like to keep the bridge between the two of us, if you’ll let me. Are you busy tonight?”  
  
Kurogane was so caught off guard by the other’s seemingly honest statement that he answered honestly as well. “No.”  
  
“ _Magnifique_! Seven it is! Now, do you have a car?”  
  
Another, more cautious response. “…Yes.”  
  
“You see, that’s quite fortunate, because I don’t,” Fai said. “And there’s no movie theatre near enough to walk. So let me give you my address and I’ll see you when you come to pick me up.”  
  
“Wait, first you’re conning me into this in the first place, and now you’re making me drive?!”  
  
A pause, then, “ _Oui,_ that’s about right.”  
  
Kurogane ground his teeth, biting back the angry growl that bubbled inside of him like boiling water. But before he had a chance to respond, Fai took it upon himself to end the conversation.  
  
“Right, so I’ll see you tonight at 7 o’clock, then. I’ll send you an SMS with my address.”  
  
And with that came the click of the phone. Kurogane blinked, staring at the blank screen in a stunned silence. Had he even agreed? Did it seem like he had agreed?  
  
Granted, free food was free food, and Kurogane was no king, so he might as well humor it. But he still couldn’t help but feel like he was being put in a rather compromising situation by someone who was a little more smooth than the writer had anticipated.  This event had left him feeling out of place, the passiveness of his position frustrating and foreign. Were he to completely lose his sanity for a moment (and he felt close to doing so, considering the amount of run-ins he’d had with this asshole) and humor the thought of the two of them in a relationship, wouldn’t it be the other way around? Wouldn’t  _Kurogane_  be the one to ask?  He had never pictured anyone other than himself initiating anything that wasn’t casual conversation.  
  
Perplexed by this sudden role-reversal (followed by a short moment wherein he comforted his masculinity), Kurogane heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head, resigning to the fact that he wouldn’t be able to rid himself of this idiot anytime soon, what with Beauchamp being buddies with him and everything. So he might as well give this guy one last chance to see if he could act like a human being, since he seemed as though he wanted to give that a shot.  
  
Kurogane glanced at the clock; three PM. Four hours until he was supposed to be at Fai’s place. He wondered bitterly if he should bother dressing up.


	6. Swoon, Part 2.

Kurogane glanced at his watch--7PM. Four hours later. He felt odd, approaching the small complex building, unsure entirely as to why he was there in the first place, unsure as to why he’d bothered to put a small amount of extra time into his appearance. Of course, his "effort" was just a button-up shirt that he hadn’t even bothered to tuck in, but that still counted. He was so angry at the extra two seconds it’d taken for him to put on this shirt as opposed to most of his others that he’d rolled up the sleeves out of spite. That took even longer than buttoning it up.

Shoving aside thoughts of trying to make himself look even more disheveled and showing up on Fai’s doorstep looking like homeless person, Kurogane reached the gate of the complex. Someone had forgotten to shut their window--and who could blame them? It was a decent night, weather-wise--and was playing a violin. Though Kurogane didn’t look or act like the type to enjoy any sort of music that didn’t involve screaming guitars and angry singers, it was easy to appreciate a decent musician when he heard one. And the person playing the violin here definitely knew how to use it, at least.

Kurogane sighed and punched in the number he was told to ring the apartment that Fai lived in, and waited patiently. From the open window, he heard a buzz from the intercom in the room upstairs. The playing immediately stopped, followed by the sound of a chair scraping across hard flooring. Shortly after came an answer on the intercom.

“This is Fai.”

“Come outside,” Kurogane answered abruptly, and there came an infuriating chuckle on the other end of the line.

“I’ll be right down.”

A few moments later and the window shut, and a handful of moments after that came the distant closing of a door followed by footsteps. Fai appeared at the gate, looking slightly more presentable than usual. He smiled, a fluid motion that was seemingly effortless. From what the journalist could tell, there was no awkwardness behind the gesture. Kurogane shoved his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to do, and nodded once in acknowledgement before turning back towards his car and leading Fai to it.

Kurogane was on guard, waiting for a nickname, a teasing poke, a sly glance, or anything that was done in an effort to annoy him, but surprisingly, none came. The blond was silent (for once), blue eyes glancing over periodically as he drove. He asked questions occasionally, mostly as to streets and directions to further acquaint himself with the part of the world he’d moved into. Kurogane felt himself relax, if only momentarily; maybe this dust storm of irritation was actually capable of being a human being after all.

They pulled into the parking lot of a movie theatre about 10 minutes away; it was part of a bustling shopping district, surrounded by independently owned restaurants and shops, most of them quaint and probably overpriced.

“Movie first?” Fai asked, and Kurogane grunted in agreement.

 

* * *

 

The movie went smoothly enough--it was a sort of horror movie, mostly focusing on paranormal bullshit that Kurogane didn’t entirely believe in, and so didn’t really bother him. Fai, however, felt differently. The bastard had his feet on the seat and knees to his chest for half the film, and his eyes looked as though they were nearly going to pop out of his head. Kurogane had been the one to suggest the film, and while ultimately Fai had agreed, there was quite a bit of hesitation--Kurogane saw why, now.

If Fai hadn’t been such a prick for the last three weeks, he would’ve felt bad at subjecting the blond to that. But now he just considered the score settled and the two of them were back at even ground. He felt smug, glancing over at Fai throughout the film, who had a nail between his teeth and nearly leapt out of his chair at every noise. It felt good to be back on top.

They left during the credits, Fai slowly returning to his normal demeanor as they found themselves back in the well-lit portion of the theatre.

“Not a big horror fan?” he asked, and Fai laughed nervously.

“Not in the slightest!” Fai replied, his lips turning up in a devilish grin. “I was so tempted to cling to you for moral support. After all, it was your idea to see it!”

“Well, now we’re even for the bullshit," Kurogane vocalized the thought he had nearly just completed, letting him know that the attempt to bridge the gap between them wasn't entirely in vain. Though it was difficult to see their relationship being much better than constantly strained.

“You can be so cruel,” Fai moaned, feigning a despaired stagger and brushing against Kurogane as they headed towards the exit, the contact unexpected and catching the other off guard. Kurogane bristled, but kept himself at bay. This whole touching thing wasn’t his bag, had never really been, but Fai sure loved it for whatever reason. Since Fai had allowed the movie, Kurogane would allow the invasion of his personal space... just for today.

They entered a small restaurant next to the theatre, ordering their food and sitting down to eat. As promised, Fai paid for both of them, leaving Kurogane to feel like an awkward young woman on a first date. Were he in possession of a conscience, he might have ordered something a bit cheaper, but thankfully, he didn‘t. Fai ate like a bird, pecking at what he’d gotten. Kurogane was not so modest.

“I’m glad to see that your appetite is more healthy than your attitude,” Fai said, smiling in amusement as he watched Kurogane wolf down what he had with little manners. Kurogane snorted, leaning back in his chair but not setting the food down on his plate, opting instead to gesticulate with it.

“Not all of us want to be skin and bones,” he shot back, mouth half-full.

Fai chuckled before leaning forward, making a horrible imitation of Kurogane’s posture, and forked a large(r) portion of his food into his mouth, sitting up as he chewed, looking similar to a squirrel. “Is this better?”

Kurogane rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his drink before biting into his food again. Fai laughed, muttering something in French before taking a Fai-sized bite. Kurogane knitted his brows at the comment, arguing with himself as to whether or not he wanted to ask what it meant. Fai was infuriating in that respect; he seemed to use language as a way of being one step ahead of Kurogane, just outside of his grasp. As though he were making fun of him for only knowing one of the four that Fai did. Granted, that wasn’t the only way that Fai tried to slip outside of his ability to understand anything about him, but it was the most obvious and most present to Kurogane at the moment, and so it was that which irritated him the most.

Cutting off that train of thought before it lead to frustrated (and somewhat juvenile) thoughts of unfairness, Kurogane instead put his mind to good use and thought of ways he could even the playing field, opting to ignore the foreign comment, though he couldn’t quite hide the annoyance that had followed it. Really, that was all Fai had been looking for in response, no doubt. Ah, he knew where he could start, aiming his next phrase right at Fai's heart like an arrow.

“So you play violin?” Kurogane said, and Fai’s hesitated, his fork going back to his plate as the smile melted from his lips, his mind working desperately for an answer.

“Who told you that?”

“You were playing when I got there,” Kurogane said, leaning back against his chair, trying and failing to hide the smug look on his face. “You should close your window if you care so much about people listening in.”

It was obvious that Fai was rebuilding that wall he always kept up, pushing Kurogane back to an arm’s length again. “The” smile found its way back to his face, the one Kurogane was quickly learning was his way of showing that he was insincere, no matter how he tried to convince anyone otherwise. He might fool others, but Kurogane had a built-in bullshit sensor, and that look made it go off like crazy.

“I guess it's not such a bad thing if people know,” he said, and Kurogane snorted.

“You don't believe that.” For whatever weird reason the blond wanted to keep so many secrets.

Surprisingly, this time Fai’s expression remained the same, though it evolved no further from the insincere smile that he always flashed when Kurogane struck a nerve. And it made Kurogane feel a bit odd that he was already so familiar with the other man’s features. Though really, maybe it was breaking him down to see glimpses of actual sincerity that made Kurogane continue to tolerate this asshole’s presence for more than two seconds. Or at least however long it took to spot Fai, recognize him, and run the hell away.

Later, Kurogane would begin to realize that there was something about Fai, some sort of magnetism that drew him to the other, fascinated him much like a moth was by light. And really, Fai was similar to the insect--he flitted around Kurogane, butting heads with him until growing tired and moving on, but eventually coming back to try again.

But unfortunately, Kurogane was too deep in denial to admit that Fai did anything other than annoy him, and so had no explanation for the lingering thoughts in his head whenever he had previously left Fai in whatever state he was in.

Fai rose from his chair, waiting for Kurogane to do the same as he said, “Let’s go walk outside. I feel as though I need fresh air.”

Kurogane complied, and the two left the restaurant. They paused by the doorway, glancing at each other when neither moved in any direction.

“Where to?” Fai asked cheerily, and Kurogane knitted his brows in confusion.

“You were the one to suggest we walk in the first place!”

“You are correct, but I’m afraid I have no idea where we are,” Fai admitted, allowing himself a sheepish expression that wasn’t quite genuine, though the lack of sincerity was more due to the amused look in his eye at seeing Kurogane’s feathers ruffled than anything else.

Kurogane rolled his eyes, a sigh escaping him that more closely resembled a growl, and he turned towards the direction of the parking lot, deciding not to humor him any further. Fai made a noise to ‘hint’ at the fact that he was disappointed, grabbing hold of Kurogane’s arm in an effort to stop. Kurogane snapped his neck around in alarm, mouth pulled down in a terrifying (to a smart individual, anyway) look of fury. Fai, however, was unintelligent and therefore unmoved, and so his hands remained on the other’s wrist. His fingers hung loosely, delicately around the dark skin, yet the second invasion of Kurogane's personal space exaggerated the touch, the soft fingers a foreign sensation--truth be told, Kurogane wasn’t too used to being touched in the first place. In his whole romantic life, there was maybe one girl that didn’t avoid him like the plague, and even then he’d never had much of an interest to pursue physical intimacy. Relationships were an inevitability, it seemed, or at least that’s what his parents said when they continued to harass him about settling down. Never mind the fact that he was hardly out of college.

“Just humor me,” Fai said, his voice soft but still playfully musical as it lilted on the on the air between them. Kurogane made a dubious face at the request.

“It’s such a nice night, and it would be an awful shame to waste it.”

Kurogane hesitated, his expression softening for a moment (and only a moment). Knitting his brows together, he sighed and walked in the opposite direction, Fai smiling in triumph as he trotted happily behind his cranky date. His fingers thankfully left Kurogane’s wrist, and Kurogane forced himself to relax.  
They found themselves in silence. Kurogane didn’t mind it so much--it settled around them like a blanket, allowing each of them to get used to the other as a presence, rather than a voice or a face (or in Fai’s case, an annoyance). In that silence, Kurogane snuck a glance at the man walking beside him; Fai’s face had lost the silly smile and had instead changed into something that could almost be called a frown, if one could believe that were possible. Granted, it was subtle, as was much about the blond, but it betrayed itself in the small lines at the corners of his mouth, showing his age and the fact that he was lost in his mind at a time when he thought Kurogane wasn’t watching.

Now it was Kurogane’s turn to frown; why was he watching?

Kurogane cleared his throat, taking his turn at an attempt to be a civil human being.

“So why the hell did you come to America, anyway?”

Well. Maybe not an entirely good attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. The smile found it’s way back to Fai’s lips, though this time it looked as though it nearly reflected actual amusement. Fai glanced up, raising a coy eyebrow as he replied.

“Does one need a reason to have a change of pace?”

Kurogane snorted, shaking his head, quick to call the bluff. “Bullshit. A change of pace is eating at McDonald’s instead of Burger King. You don’t move across the world for a change of pace.”

Fai’s eyes closed halfway as he opened his mouth to respond, but Kurogane raised a finger to silence him for a moment. He knew that look all too well.  
“And don’t think calling me an idiot nickname is going to change the subject.”

Fai blinked in what appeared to be surprise before hiding it quickly behind a pouted lip. Kurogane raised an eyebrow, allowing himself a small smirk in response; score another for him. Maybe he should start keeping track.

Fai opened his mouth again, then closed it, pushing his chin foward as he thought--actually thought--before speaking. His voice was cautious; clipped.

“I felt the need to get away, and no one was coming to take me.”

Blue eyes flicked up almost nervously as Kurogane snorted in response.

“That’s because no one’s going to make you get off your ass for you.”

“That is a lesson I have unfortunately learned.” Fai’s eyes suddenly glazed over, his expression rueful, as though he were nine thousand miles away; he probably was. “Usually people are more adept at making me do things I don‘t want.”

Now it was Kurogane‘s turn to blink. “What?”

Fai was suddenly snapped back into the present, into his surroundings, and his eyes widened for a moment as if he’d said too much. That smile returned, the one that made Kurogane want to punch him in the face, and Fai said quickly, “No, no! I’m far too sober to continue on that thought.” He glanced up momentarily to give Kurogane a sheepish look. “Forgive me.”

Kurogane pulled the corners of his mouth down in distaste, accepting the apology silently by allowing the comment to float behind them, untouched. The pale hand found it’s way back to Kurogane’s arm as Fai said, “I suddenly feel rather ill. Maybe we should head back.”

The ride was silent, though this time there was no semblance of comfort in it. As Kurogane rolled to a stop at the gate, Fai said a quick ‘Thank you’ (but not without trying to bat his eyes effeminately to embarrass Kurogane, who growled a quick ‘Out’ before it could escalate) before stepping out of the car, trotting to the gate as he fumbled with his keys. Kurogane stared at the back of that stupid blond head, the expression on Fai’s face as he’d made that momentary slip-up stuck in his mind. A heavy sigh escaped the journalist as he leaned his head on the back of his seat.

Did he seriously just... almost enjoy himself?


End file.
